


All Along The Edge

by red_crate



Series: 2017 Kinktober Collection [4]
Category: American Assassin (2017), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, DIY Medical Procedure, Joint Dislocation, Knifeplay, M/M, Play Fighting, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12269505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: Mitch doesn't fight allowing the edge of his blade skim across the exposed skin at the V of Peter's shirt.“You can do it, if you want to.” Peter's voice is silky. “You might find out something interesting.”





	All Along The Edge

**Author's Note:**

> I had a surprisingly large amount of positive feedback from my first Mitch/Peter fic, so I thought I'd give them another go. This is set in the same universe as the other one. I haven't decided if this happens before or after that one. 
> 
> Written for day four of Kinktober: knifeplay
> 
> Warning: This contains a semi-graphic description of joint dislocation and reduction.

 

Twisting his arm the wrong way and applying force to it makes Peter slow down and buckle towards the ground. Grip firm, Mitch easily steps to the side and out of range of Peter’s other hand. He gets Peter on his knees, for a moment both of them go still. He has Peter bested.

Mitch flinches in horror when Peter wrenches his arm hard enough to dislocate the joint with a sickening crack. Letting go immediately, Mitch springs back thinking  _ what the fuck _ . They were only play fighting, and had established rules.

“Peter…” 

He loses his train of thought as he watches Peter stand up gingerly and reach with his good arm to take hold of the injured one. There's a thick  _ pop _ sound, and his shoulder is back in place. Peter winces, the only real indicator of discomfort, and rotates his shoulder backwards and forwards. 

Words dry, he says, “Let’s call it a draw.” 

“What the fuck, Peter!” Mitch shakes his head in exasperation. “All you had to do was tap out, and I would have let you go.” 

“Do you want to look me over? Give a kiss better?” Peter clenches and unclenches his hand, arching an eyebrow. “I'll be fine. I promise.” He smirks, amused for some reason. 

Mitch takes Peter by the arm—the one that was hanging limply and  _ wrong _ by his side a minute ago—and says, “Hey, fuck you. I thought we were play fighting, not going for real.” 

Peter drags the back of his fingers down Mitch's cheek in a surprisingly gentle manner. The easy flip between sweet and vicious is something that drew Mitch in that first time, and what brings him back time and again. Peter doesn't disappoint now, taking Mitch by surprise and gripping him suddenly by the throat. 

“We are playing, sweetheart.” Peter picks Mitch up and slams him on the ground. He swings a leg so he can straddle Mitch's hips. 

He's grinning, and his blue eyes seem to flash too blue, too bright for a second. It's got to be the slowing of oxygen to Mitch's brain playing tricks on him. Peter is actively choking him now, squeezing his fingers tight. 

Mitch kicks his legs up, attempting to hook his feet under Peter's armpits to flip him. He is unsuccessful but it gives him access to the knife tucked in his boot. He pulls that out—ision starting to tunnel—and holds the blade to Peter's jugular.

Immediately, Mitch can breathe again. He and Peter stare at each other as Mitch takes deep, measured breaths. The knife stays with the flat of the blade pressed into Peter's neck. Peter’s hand is lax, still curved against Mitch's. That's when he realizes both of them are hard. 

“Gonna slit my throat?” Peter asks, grinding down with his hip. 

Mitch swallows, fighting the moan that wants to escape. “You were choking me out.” It isn't an accusation, just an explanation. He still doesn't pull the knife away. 

“Don't worry, baby. I wouldn't have let you pass out.” His gaze drags over Mitch's face and chest, before he tips his head down enough that Mitch has to accommodate it to keep from drawing blood. 

The pet names twist Mitch up a little, but he doesn't say anything. “I wasn't worried about it.”

Peter gives a little smile. “I know.” When his fingers trace the line of Mitch's throat, he says, “That's what I like about you.”

Mitch doesn't get a chance to ask what he means, because Peter wraps his hand around the one holding the knife and gently pulls down. Mitch doesn't fight allowing the edge of his blade skim across the exposed skin at the V of Peter's shirt. 

“You can do it, if you want to.” Peter's voice is silky. “You might find out something interesting.”

Laughter puffs out of Mitch. He already knows he's got a bit of a violence kink, and it's pretty clear he's not alone in that. Everything, all the training, in him says that his skills and tools are meant for the job only. Maybe it happened because for so long, all he focused on was the violence. It seeped into him and wound into every aspect of his life including sex. But if he didn't enjoy it a little, Mitch wouldn't be nearly as good as he is. 

He adds pressure and watches the blade effortlessly slice into the skin of Peter's pectoral. It's instinct to drag the blade down a few inches, curiosity at watching someone allow him this. Blood wells up almost instantaneously. It's thick, bright red. He blinks several times, brow knitting, when the cut begins to close on its own.

Peter chuckles, rocking his hips in a slow rhythm. It's distracting, but not enough to keep Mitch from setting the knife down and tracing over whole, bloody skin. There is no cut where there should be. 

“I told you.” Peter smirks as he takes Mitch's hand in his, smearing the blood. “I'm a werewolf. Even you would need more than a knife to take me down.”

It's not the craziest thing Mitch could think of, honestly. He's heard whisperings of supernatural creatures being a little more real than fairy tales and fantasy suggest. Still, to have it confirmed like this—by someone he's fucked—is a little disconcerting. 

“Okay.” He shakes his head. “I didn't imagine the bright blue eyes, then.” 

“No, you didn't.” Peter’s eyes glow blue again, and he leans down until their chests press together. “Are we going to have a problem?” 

Hooking a hand behind Peter's neck, Mitch leans up to lick into his mouth. It's hot and wet. Cock still hard, he hitches his hips up to rub off against Peter. 

“I think I can handle it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you liked it! 
> 
> You can check me out on [tumblr](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


End file.
